Derrick's Birthday
by fearlessfan
Summary: Pete knows Derrick hates surprises.


DERRICK'S BIRTHDAY

"Mrs. Patil is expecting us at two o'clock sharp," Pete says, eyeing the group in front of him, who stand at varying degrees of attention. His brothers are, as always, at opposite ends of the spectrum; Derrick looks as close to sitting as a person can while remaining upright, and Randy stands with the kind of posture drill sergeants aspire to.

"Got it, fourteen hundred hours," Randy says, nodding sharply. "I'll be there, Pete. In fact, I'll be there an hour early. Make that two hours early."

"Two o'clock is two o'clock, Randy, not noon, not one o'clock," Pete says.

Robinson raises her hand. "Wait, now we have to be there at one o'clock?"

"I thought he said two," Park says.

"I believe we all heard the gentleman say eleven," Chubowski says.

"Eleven doesn't sound like any of the numbers we just said, Chubowski," Pete says. "Where did you get that?"

Chubowski shrugs in an apologetic way. "The workings of my mind are a complex mystery."

"I'm still a little lost on the whole what-time-we're-supposed-to-be-there issue," JaMort says. "Also, where exactly are we going?"

Pete closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, attempting access the reserves of patience he's developed over the last few months. Before he finishes exhaling, Derrick speaks up.

"Okay guys, this is enough. You can stop with all this."

Pete opens his eyes.

"Stop with what?" JaMort says. "I'm legitimately confused. I think we've established that I rarely know what I'm doing."

"You know some things," Robinson says, with a look that makes JaMort blush.

"Okay, enough," Pete says, waving a hand in their direction.

Derrick nods. "Thanks, Pete. Enough with all the talk about 'helping Mrs. Patil,' I know what you're doing."

Randy looks between Derrick and Pete. "Pete, I know we've gone over it a few times, but I'm not really sure why Derrick used air quotes just now. If I remember right, they indicate ironic detachment, and I'm not sure why Derrick would be ironic about Mrs. Patil, who is a super nice lady."

"Are you serious?" Derrick says.

"Absolutely I'm serious," Randy says. "I'm trying to learn, and learning is all about not being afraid to ask questions."

Derrick rolls his eyes. "I know Mrs. Patil doesn't need our help. This is all a pretty pathetic cover for my surprise party."

Randy gasps. "Oh my God, Derrick, your birthday is next week. I completely forgot. I am the worst brother in the world!"

"What you are is the worst actor of all time," Derrick says. "I know it's been a rough summer, with Erin moving across the country to be near her incredibly symmetrical ex-husband, but I swear, I am fine."

Pete knows Derrick isn't, but he won't say that in front of everyone. Other people are less reserved.

"The sobs I hear through the wall at night tell a different story," Chubowski says. "There's no shame in heartbreak, my friend."

"Have you considered burning her belongings? Fire can be extremely cleansing," Dobkiss says.

Randy shakes his head. "Derrick, I am so -"

"Randy, drop and give me forty," Pete says, when he can tell how convincing Randy's words are going to be. While Randy counts off the push-ups, Pete turns to Derrick and says, "You got us. But you have to see it's too late to call it off. So why don't you get out of here, and just be sure to show up where we tell you to tomorrow, all right?"

Derrick looks around at all of them and shrugs. "Fine. But I hope you know how ridiculous you're being."

Everyone watches in silence while Derrick walks away, and when Pete hears someone take a breath to say something, he raises a hand to silence them and is gratified to see his request honored, Randy's voice counting off his push-ups the only thing breaking the silence.

Pete turns around and looks at the group in front of him. "Looks like we've got a birthday party to plan."

XXXX

Pete knocks on Jill's door ten minutes later. Jill looks up from her book – probably _The Art of War _or _Profiles in Courage_ – and says, "Ah, Sergeant Hill. Word on the street is you've changed careers."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she says, putting down her book. "I hear you've gone into event planning."

"Word travels fast," Pete says, leaning against her doorjamb. "I'm here to call in that favor you owe me. I need you to go help out Mrs. Patil tomorrow in my place."

"That so?" Jill says, leaning back in her chair. "My records show you've got a serious favor deficit."

"That can't be right," Pete says, but he's pretty sure it is, and when Jill gives him a look, he owns up to it. "Okay, so maybe it is. But I need one more. Not for me, but for Derrick. He's having a hard time and he's expecting a birthday party tomorrow."

Jill stares at him for a long, silent moment, and then tilts forward in her chair again so that it settles solidly on the ground. "I forgot my mother's birthday once when I was fourteen, it happens. I'll help you out, but be aware, this brings your favor deficit to five."

"Five? It's four at the most," Pete says.

"So you do know how much you owe me," Jill says, smiling.

XXXX

He takes the platoon on a midnight run to WalMart, where they're supposed to buy supplies for the party and gifts for Derrick.

"All right, you have your assignments," Pete says. "Meet me here in twenty-five minutes with your supplies."

Pete waits at the front of the store, cart empty, thinking of this time a year ago. The week before Derrick's birthday had been a bad one, where a routine mission out in the field went sour and cost one of his best men the full use of his right arm. Andy Goorjian, Pete remembers, a guy he'd always liked because he reminded Pete of Derrick, sarcastic and sharp and funny. Now they're friends on Facebook, both stateside, and Pete's standing in WalMart directing missions to various departments rather than across uncertain Afghanistan terrain.

Randy makes it back first, breathless from seeing to his tasks around the store at a dead run, arms full of paper products and gifts for Derrick.

"I got everything on the list and a few other things, too," Randy says. "I can't believe we forgot Derrick's birthday."

"Don't worry about it," Pete says. "With this weather, it's easy to lose track of time. Blame Florida."

"You can blame Florida," Randy says. "But I blame myself."

XXXX

They work hard on the party, staying up all night working on directions and trying to cook food on the hot plates in their rooms and Pete's trailer, but it still looks like a sad shadow of what a party truly should be by the time they're setting up outside Pete's trailer. First of all, no guests.

"Most parties have more than eight people," Ruiz says, tying off a balloon and handing it to Pete, who's standing near the top of a ladder. They'd forgotten to get helium, so they're compensating by attaching them in high places.

"Sergeant Perez's platoon will be stopping by after they finish up with Mrs. Patil," Pete says, after the balloon is securely attached to one of the tree branches. He looks out over the open space in front of his trailer, where his platoon is making the last of the arrangements.

JaMort looks up from stirring the pot on the camp stove he's set up. "There's a good chance this soup may be edible."

"Excellent," Pete says, though the aroma is less than encouraging.

Dobkiss emerges from behind the trailer, where he'd been gathering stones. "Got stones for the bonfire."

"Not sure a bonfire on a September afternoon in Florida is really a great call," Pete says, but Dobkiss looks so heartbroken that Pete finds himself saying, "Just make it a small one, all right?"

Dobkiss nods, and Pete climbs down the ladder and makes his way across the lawn toward his trailer, across the length of which Robinson and Park are hanging a banner across that reads, 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEREK!'

Pete opens his mouth to say something, but Robinson beats him to it. "Hold up, this isn't right."

"What isn't right?" Park asks in a reedy voice; she's standing on her tiptoes on a chair, and is focused more on attaching her end to the trailer without falling than to the banner itself.

"This sign, who spelled Derrick's name on here? Chubowski? You were on banner duty!"

"Microsoft Word told me this was the correct way to spell his name," Chubowski says. "Who am I to question Microsoft Office?"

"You should always question Microsoft Office," Park says.

Randy steps out of the trailer with two bags of chips and a container of dip. "We forgot to get bowls to put the chips in, Pete! It's going to look terrible!"

"We'll fix the sign and figure out the chip situation," Pete says, when he sees the panic rising in Randy to dangerous levels. "You go get Derrick and by the time you get back here, everything will be fixed."

XXXX

Pete's not sure what gives it away – probably everything? – but he knows Derrick realizes the nature of the party within seconds of seeing it, and the embarrassment Pete sees flash across his face turns Pete's stomach, but Derrick adjusts quickly, nothing showing on his face but familiar amused detachment when the platoon finishes yelling, "Happy birthday!"

Derrick shakes his head. "Guys. You didn't have to do this. But thank you."

JaMort gestures toward his camp stove. "I made soup."

"I love soup," Derrick says.

"Nailed it," JaMort says, under his breath.

"I just want to note, that while Robinson and I were the one who risked our lives hanging it up, Chubowski was the one responsible for designing the banner," Park says.

"And I want to note that it is Microsoft Word that does not approve of the spelling of your first name, not me," Chubowski says.

"So noted," Derrick says.

"Happy birthday, brother," Randy says, his expression so eager for Derrick's happiness that Pete knows before he sees it that Derrick's smile will be genuine.

"Thanks, brother. This is awesome," Derrick says. "Now let me get at that soup."

When Jill's platoon shows up, the party starts to turn from a pathetic, last-ditch attempt to a true and genuine good time, which of course means Derrick starts skirting toward the edges. Pete's already there, having set up with a beer at the edge of the picnic table where Derrick's gifts are.

"So there wasn't any party for me," Derrick says.

"In our defense, you hate surprises," Pete says. "Unless you've been lying all your life?"

"No, you're right," Derrick says, settling down beside Pete on the picnic table. "I feel like an idiot. I really didn't mean to guilt all of you into planning this."

"No big deal. It was fun," Pete says.

Derrick gives him a disbelieving look.

"It got us out of cleaning Mrs. Patil's garage," Pete says. "And while she is, as Randy says, a super nice lady, from what Jill told us today, she's also a hoarder, so the whole platoon ended up winners."

"That is true," Derrick says.

"Hey, open your present," Pete says, picking his out of the pile.

"I'm guessing this, like everything around me, was discovered in the wee hours at WalMart last night? What could it be?" Derrick tests the weight in his hands. "A coffee mug? A robot dog? A robot dog wouldn't be too bad, actually-"

"Just open it, smartass," Pete says.

Derrick puts down his beer and tears away at the paper. He pauses when he catches sight of the box inside, looking up at Pete with an uncertain expression before going back to unwrapping it. He sits in silence for a long moment after opening it, turning the box over in his hands.

"Did I get the wrong thing? I can't tell one camera from another, but I thought this was the one you were talking about-"

"It's the right one," Derrick says, looking at the box. "You didn't get this at WalMart last night."

"No, I didn't."

They sit in silence for a bit, watching the party, where JaMort and Robinson have engaged in another dance-off, to the delight of everyone in attendance.

Pete looks over at Derrick. Almost thirty now, but when Pete looks at him, half the time he still sees Derrick at seven, just finding out their Dad was gone.

"I'd never forget your birthday," Pete says." You know that."

"I do know that," Derrick says, looking down at the box. "Thanks, Pete."

Pete reaches out and places his hand on the back of Derrick's neck. "Happy birthday, brother."


End file.
